


forever, you and i

by silpium



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Time Loop, content warnings in opening notes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-19 00:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium/pseuds/silpium
Summary: “You gonna be okay?” Jason asks, voice kind, gentle. Peter heard that voice warped and twisted just a minute ago. Peter thinks for a second he might throw up again.“This has all happened before.” Peter’s voice is hollow. “I’ve seen you—you—I felt you die in my arms, Jason.”Or: Peter becomes stuck in a timeloop around Jason’s death, and some things take years to mend.





	forever, you and i

**Author's Note:**

> thank you sooo much for opening this up! i got super inspired to write this after i saw a bare production live just a few weeks ago (if the any of the cast of the september tampa production happens to this, this is for you!). the idea of a bare timeloop fic has been swirling around in my head for months now, so here we are! ;v; i really like the idea of a timeloop with bare for a lot of reasons (heavy spoilers of course!):
> 
> \- how in “queen mab,” jason says “‘tis no way to go”/“this isn’t how things should go”  
> \- peter’s dreams (being prophetic of jason’s death in “epiphany, knowing of jason and ivy in “wedding bells”)  
> \- the way the melody to “bare” plays throughout the musical (even as early as “epiphany”!)/melodies of later songs show up in earlier songs ALL THE TIME (“all grown up” in “promise,” “one” and “one kiss” sharing a melody, and i’m sure i’ve missed some!)  
> \- when you cycle through bare as a playlist, the way you go from “no voice” right back to “epiphany” to me is just. Wow. it feels like a seamless loop to me and it feels so compelling. 
> 
> there is a lot of heavy content in this fic. most of the triggering content is canon-typical/at a canon-typical level, but i’ll list them out! please take care of yourself. 
> 
> \- emetophobia (just a repeated, non-explicit one-liner)  
> \- homophobia, internalized and external, implied comphet (this is worse than canon with some more exploration of and more varied instances of.)  
> \- mental illness and development thereof, relapses, etc. general mental illness cw. also, implied ptsd for peter after a few loops!  
> \- references to and mild detailing of (emotional) child abuse  
> \- references to teenage pregnancy  
> \- religious guilt/anxiety, questioning of religion  
> \- suicide (this is NOT explicitly detailed, just referenced. please note that the timeloop is centric around jason’s suicide, however, and that you cannot read this fic without reading multiple references to his suicide and the aftereffects on peter.)  
> \- underage drinking  
> -unhealthy relationships (codependency). this is peterjason, but it is only explored in one loop and is not endgame. 
> 
> also, i do censor g-d due to religious beliefs! i’m sorry if that ruins immersion at all for you ): 
> 
> anddd that’s all i have to say for now! i hope you enjoy this fic!

Peter wakes up.

He’s hot and cold at the same time—his limbs feel sticky with a cold sweat, but he can still feel the stage lights blaring down on him from above (hot, hot, red hot), the glare of them reflecting off the wooden floor. His heart—his heart is beating so fast that it’s painful, yet at the same time, he can barely feel it in his chest, as though it’s gone and flown right out.

There should be something in his arms—something heavy, something warm, something smooth with fabric.

And that’s when he remembers. He remembers, remembers, remembers, and the bile rises right up in his throat at the memory.

Jason’s voice, shaky and sick. _This isn’t how things should go_. Jason’s unsteady, disoriented movements around the stage as Peter ran through Queen Mab. Jason trying so, so desperately to just kiss him, the burning warmth of his hands. _I’ll be fine_. Jason collapsing into his arms. Jason—

Peter jerks upright. This is their room—but he shouldn’t be here. He should be in Lucas’ room, not in their—Jason’s room, with all their belongings, the Diana Ross posters he know he took down—

But then he hears a snore from his left, and something in him seizes. Jason is— _there_ , hair all tousled and messed like he never lets anyone but Nadia and Peter see, eyebrows twitching like they always do when he’s deep in a dream, and…

Peter has to run to the bathroom and throw up.

Jason is awake when he gets back. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed expectantly. Peter is Jason’s own personal alarm clock, since Jason could sleep through a fire without even realizing. Peter’s almost never just gotten up and left without getting Jason up. When Peter sits down next to him, he starts rubbing Peter’s back in a soothing pattern, the same way he does whenever Peter is sick.

All Peter can think of is how different his hands feel from _before_. Colder, so much colder, with none of the shakiness. Peter thinks for a second that he might throw up again.

They sit together on Jason’s—their bed. 

“You gonna be okay?” Jason asks, voice soft.

“I just had a nightmare,” Peter tells him, and it’s obvious even to him that he’s trying to convince himself.

“You wanna talk about it? It’s not like first period matters.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be alright,” Peter says.

He’s nowhere near as good an actor as Jason is.

/ * \

It happens.

Everything happens exactly the same.

_This isn’t how things should go._

_I’ll be fine._

Jason collapses right into his arms, and Peter can’t even process it all enough to cry.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Peter has to run to the bathroom to throw up.

“You gonna be okay?” Voice kind, gentle. He heard that voice warped and twisted just a minute ago. Peter thinks for a second he might throw up again.

“This has all happened before.” Peter’s voice is hollow. “I’ve seen you—you—I felt you die in my arms, Jason, I swear to G-d.”

Jason’s hand stops circling around on his back. “You sure you’re not still dreaming? I’m right here, Peter.”

“Yes, I’m sure. It—I’ve seen it happen twice. I felt—” Peter’s voice hitches. “We were in _Romeo & Juliet_ together, the Queen Mab scene, and you—you had overdosed, or something, and you just collapsed right there on the stage, and—”

“Peter,” Jason says, consolingly, like he’s talking to a child. He’s started rubbing Peter’s back again. “I’m not anywhere near killing myself. Look, you just had a bad dream, alright? Everything’s gonna be okay—”

“We broke up. You got Ivy pregnant,” Peter lists off, getting shriller with each word, “Matt _outed_ us. Father condemned you. If I know anything about you, Jason, it’s that your worst fear is your family finding out, and I don’t know what that happening could drive you to—”

Jason stands up, suddenly. Peter’s nails are digging deep, deep into his skin. “ _Peter_ ,” Jason interrupts him, “None of that has happened or will happen. I think you just need to take it easy for a while, okay? I’m gonna go to first period. I’ll come back during passing, okay?”

Peter doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at the way Jason’s body is fraught with tension, like a bow about to be fired. Jason turns away from him and towards the dresser, begins pulling out his uniform, and bundles it up under his arm as he walks out towards the showers.

Peter realizes, then, that he has the power to change things. They didn’t get into a fight last time or the time before prior to the auditions for _Romeo & Juliet_. Nothing about this is set in stone—he could—he can…

He pulls his notebook out of his bag, crumples up and throws away the _Romeo & Juliet_ pamphlet, and begins planning.

/ * \

In his notebook, there are ideas scrawled everywhere. He’s worked himself to exhaustion to the point where he falls asleep during Mass—again.

And the other dream he’s been having clicks, suddenly. He should’ve known all along.

_Not at a funeral, Peter._

/ * \

Jason still shows up to auditions.

He still gets the part of Romeo. Ivy still gets the part of Juliet.

Peter’s mother asks him what’s wrong when he tells her they’ve both gotten cast— _shouldn’t you be happy, honey? You got a major role! You’re not jealous of Jason, are you?_

He catches Jason staring at him more than once throughout the day. Peter can’t keep his thoughts from racing, enough so that Nadia stops him, too, to ask if everything is alright.

Jason doesn’t bring the nightmare up again. Peter doesn’t, either, but there’s a distance between them, and fear seizes Peter’s heart at the thought that he’s already messed up.

/ * \

Nadia. Ivy. Sister Chantelle. His mother. The priest. He talks to almost everyone, anyone who’s safe, tries desperately to convince them. None of them believe him. Well—Sister Chantelle and Nadia humor him, but Peter, by now, knows how to read people, knows how to tell when someone’s just acting.

Matt and Ivy break up after Peter tells Ivy. Maybe Ivy realized it was going nowhere, or maybe Ivy realized how much she cared for Jason when Peter disclosed everything to her. Still, Peter thinks, that maybe that’s poor phrasing—“he and Ivy broke up” implies Matt was an equal participant in the decision. No, Matt fought it tooth and nail.

So when Peter hears Matt asking Ivy “Do you think that Jason would make you feel real special, like I always wanted to?” as he walks into the auditorium, he somehow knows it’s all over.

/ * \

“You’ve got to help me,” Jason begs him. “You were right—I don’t know how, I don’t care, but you’ve got to help me.”

Peter tries.

/ * \

Jason collapses right into his arms. Peter holds him, holds him close, and prays.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Peter has to run to the bathroom to throw up.

His mind is simultaneously blank and running a mile a minute, a hurricane of _how, what, why, when, who_ , if who to blame in all of this is Ivy, Nadia, Matt, or—himself. He’s prayed every night asking the very same thing, asking what he’s supposed to do, but every prayer seems to fail him. 

He stares at his reflection for a long time, the silence of the bathroom only interrupted by the sounds of pipes and doors in the hallway. He spends a while in there, rinsing out his mouth until the taste disappears.

When he returns to their ( _their_ ) room, Jason is sitting in bed, waiting for him. He looks up when Peter enters, a look of relief crossing over his face. “I was worried about you. You don’t look so hot, you know—you sure you wanna go to classes today?”

Hearing his voice, seeing him in the flesh, makes a little part of Peter break. Knowing that he’s here again, that Peter really has another chance. Peter covers the length of the room in a breath, falls on top of Jason and wraps his arms around him. 

“Whoa, what’s this all about?” He can feel Jason laugh into the crook between his neck and shoulders, deep and warm, and—and—

“I just—I love you so much. I never thought that we’d be able to… to be like this, together and— _happy_.” His voice hitches, cracks a little. “You mean so, so much to me, Jason, okay? I just need you to know that.”

Jason hugs him back, arms heavy on Peter’s back like a promise. “I love you, too, Peter.” His voice reverberates throughout Peter’s neck and down through his body, and Peter basks in it for a moment. “So much.” He holds Peter a little closer, presses a kiss to that ticklish spot on Peter’s neck that always gets him, and Peter thinks that he’s lucky that these loops are happening, if it means he gets an opportunity to fix this.

Peter smiles, all tiny and unsure, into Jason’s neck, and he can feel Jason smile right back.

They don’t go to first period.

/ * \

Peter spends this loop glued at Jason’s side. Always there for him, not a word out of line, trying to hell and back to convince Jason that he’s _worth_ something, worth the world, that he deserves to live.

Jason is still Romeo. Ivy is still Juliet. Everything is the same as it ever was. But even as Peter works himself up into a fit as the date of the play draws nearer, as the date of Matt outing them draws nearer—nothing happens.

Ivy and Matt are still together, in their weird, dancing-around-one-another way. Matt doesn’t say a word about Jason one-upping him, doesn’t make a single comment about Peter being attached to Jason’s side, doesn’t even imply that he knows a thing.

Jason doesn’t talk to Lucas. Jason doesn’t say a word about escaping together. Jason doesn’t do anything that he should.

Peter’s hands tremble at the start of the lyrics to Queen Mab, ready to catch Jason at any moment. His voice is shaky as he implores Jason ( _come, we burn daylight, ho!_ ); but Jason returns perfectly with _I dreamt a dream tonight._

And as Peter sings back _And so did I_ , his heart drops right out of his chest in relief, mind blank save for this is how things should go.

/ * \

Peter starts crying at graduation when they call Jason McConnell. It’s an ugly, ugly sobbing, and the students around him seem at a loss for what to do, but he doesn’t _care_.

Jason’s _alive_. He made it through.

/ * \

They go to Notre Dame together; they are happy, attached at the hip as they ever are. Peter comes out almost immediately, and Jason slowly but surely warms up to the idea after Peter begins bringing home pamphlets and buttons from the LGBT group on campus.

And then things begin going downhill, as the months pass. Notre Dame may be more progressive than St. Cecilia’s, but _anywhere_ was more progressive than St. Cecilia’s. The amount of times Jason would suddenly go quiet in the middle of conversation and Peter would follow his gaze to see vandalism of LGBT posters was more than Peter was comfortable admitting. Jason would suddenly go quiet whenever Peter got too close to Jason in the hallways, whenever their hands brushed for a little too long. Jason would suddenly go quiet whenever they were scrutinized at all.

On one of Peter’s late days of having classes and clubs until 8pm and barely seeing Jason, his classroom gets a call. It’s not unusual that a classroom gets called to let a student know of a lost item in their name, or something mundane like that, but when his teacher tells him the campus police need to talk to him, Peter’s thoughts grind to a halt and into nothingness.

Peter doesn’t remember the walk to the campus police station. He doesn’t remember leaving the classroom. He doesn’t remember much of anything. 

All he remembers is the police officer sitting him down, telling him how he always hates being the one to deliver news like this, but someone has to.

All Peter catches is _suicide_ and _Jason’s family_ and _the priest_. That is more than enough for him.

Jason’s voice rings endlessly through his mind: _not all tales have happy endings_.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Deep within him, in the recesses of his heart, hidden far beneath the things he’s willing to acknowledge, he is just _tired_. 

He knows the dream Jason is having right now, because Jason has told him every single time during passing between first and second period. He knows that Ivy will tell him during lunch that she passed her English test with flying colors thanks to Matt tutoring her as she sits down next to him. He knows that Jason will tell him—against Nadia’s wishes—that Nadia received an award at her cello performance last night before they go to bed. He knows that Matt will tell him during third period in a few weeks, just before the teacher announces a pop quiz, that he’s settled on going to Georgetown for college. 

He knows the fabric of today, tomorrow, and each day after like the back of his hand. Even if he can change his own behavior, nothing really changes for anyone else: Matt still finds out, Father still condemns them, Jason still—

And he wonders—what is the _point_?

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Peter just stares at the ceiling, the blank seamlessness of it, endlessly infinite, overlapping and extending on past itself.

When he wakes Jason up, Jason isn’t stupid enough to miss that something’s wrong. But when Peter says that he’s _fine, just a bad nightmare,_ Jason believes him.

/ * \

He passes on lunch, telling Jason he has to talk with a teacher about a big project that’s coming up.

When he gets back to their room, the window is open. The blinds are swaying back and forth, brushing against the window each time it falls back, and Peter feels the whole world resting in the palm of his hands as he watches it. Back and forth, again and again, back and forth, again and again.

When he picks up the telephone and dials his the number, it’s almost too easy. “Mom? I think I need to come home for a while.”

His mother doesn’t ask any questions; she can probably tell that it’s too much to talk about. She hugs him when she picks him up just a few hours later. She has this frantic nature about her, rushed, like she dropped everything. It takes all Peter has for him to not begin crying into her shoulder.

He ignores all of Jason’s calls and texts, as well as any from the rest of his classmates. He tells his mother he doesn’t want to see anyone from St. Cecilia’s, especially not Jason. Although his mother’s eyes flash in curiosity, she still stays quiet, and they speak in her place: _whenever you’re ready_.

Jason’s texts get harder to ignore as time goes on, though the ones from the rest of their friends are just as painful. Peter only reads the previews, as hard as it is to ignore them. _Everything okay?_ turns to _Please answer me, I’m worried_ , to _Babe, I love you, ple…_ to…

Peter turns off notifications after that one.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Knowing that Jason must have died hurts less than it ever has before.

His notebook, if he still had it, would be a mess of ink and indentations, everything crossed out and revised and crossed out again. _Hospitalization_. No. _Calling an ambulance in advance_. No. _Convincing Father to not reject Jason_. No. No, no, no, no, no. 

Jason dies no matter what.

/ * \

Something breaks in Peter the next time he sees Jason die. The past few loops have been him sinking deeper into apathy. When he sees it again, though, more in one last-ditch attempt—he tells himself—to save Jason than meaning to witness it, it…

Peter cries as he feels the weight drop into his arms, as Sister Chantelle runs over and presses her ear to Jason’s chest, shakes her head. 

Peter cries as the curtains are drawn to give them some semblance of privacy.

Peter _sobs_ when the paramedics take Jason away.

It’s different than hearing Jason beg him to escape with him, lines that Peter has heard recited tens, hundreds of times now. It’s different than hearing Jason mutter that this isn’t how things should go, or insist that he’s fine when he’s so obviously not. Those seem robotic, mechanical, by now—they make Jason into the starring role of a tragedy.

After tens of loops without that happening, Jason going limp in his arms—that is not something that can be rehearsed, not a choice of phrasing or a certain intonation that can be mimicked; it’s something that can be memorized, but not something one can become accustomed to.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Sometimes, as the days drag on, he just wants to forget. That’s not to say he can forget the weight he holds in his hands, the insurmountable weight of one life multiplied again and again, but there are times when he wishes he could.

The thought of getting drunk with Matt makes his stomach churn. Every time, Peter remembers that first loop, the way he whispered _Jason always does_ in Matt’s ear, the way Matt’s face turned up in disdain, the way everything—fell apart.

That’s not to say Peter never drinks with Matt anymore. No, every now and then, the idea of losing himself and _forgetting_ for a few hours is too attractive to resist. 

So he does. 

This time, he says so much more than what he did in the first loop. This time, he tells Matt everything. About Jason, about _them_ , about the loops, about—

Matt is silent for just long enough for it to be uncomfortable. When he opens his mouth to speak, Peter’s heart flutters with something he can’t name, but Matt only says “I think that’s something you need to talk to Father about,” all hushed and intimate in a condescending way, before excusing himself to bed.

Peter wakes up with a migraine and regret flooding out of his chest.

/ * \

This time, he expects it when he hears Matt ask Ivy “Did you think Jason would make you feel real special, like I always wanted to?”

Peter can barely remember the last time they didn’t make it to Notre Dame.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Peter has to run to the bathroom to throw up.

He can’t change that Jason dies, he thinks as he stares at his reflection (ghostly-pale, barely alive), but he can change everything else. He can change the lives he and Jason lead before Jason dies. He can change… just enough to make all of this worth it, so they can have their own little form of happiness, even if it’s only known to Peter. It’s the most he can make of this all.

So he tries. And he tries. 

And maybe it’s not enough, but it’ll have to be, for the both of them.

/ * \

Peter may have learned how to act, but there is only so much he can hide before someone figures out that something is wrong. Jason is the first one to notice: Peter can never seem to fall or stay asleep, anymore, and Jason’s woken up to Peter puttering around the room or just lying there beside him, staring up at the ceiling, more than a few times.

When Jason asks him if everything is okay one of those nights (another nightmare, the same old one), trying not to cry is, in that moment, probably the hardest thing Peter has ever done.

So he cries. Jason holds him through it, doesn’t ask him anything, just lets him cry and let it all out.

Jason hugs him a little tighter as Peter’s sobs die down. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Peter answers tonelessly. “It’s—I’ll be fine.”

Jason knows better than to believe him. Jason being there (real, warm, _alive_ ) isn’t enough, but it helps, having a reminder of what Peter is doing this all for.

/ * \

Peter knows this timeline the same way he knows his favorite book—forwards and backwards, the inner workings of it, all its memorable quotes and phrases.

But then Jason does something unexpected. The action itself is not anything monumental, but maybe that it's unexpected in and of itself is what makes it so—Jason tries to hold Peter’s hand in the hallways while they walk to fourth period.

That's not to say Jason has never held his hand before, or never held his hand before during school, much to the weird looks the other students sometimes give them and the occasional rumor that always gets forgotten soon enough. But he has certainly never held his hand at this exact point in time, in this exact situation. Jason gives Peter a look, and when Peter visibly startles, he raises his eyebrow in a mix of amusement and bewilderment.

Peter returns his gaze with a sheepish smile and shrugs in apology, taking Jason’s hand in his—and there’s something about the warmth of his hand this time around that's _different_ , like it was when they were twelve, when everything was new, bubbly, fluttery.

He holds Jason’s hand tight, and Jason squeezes his hand right back, a promise he’s made again and again, but never so publicly. Peter believes in it, for a second.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

Jason notices that something is off almost immediately, this time. It only takes him a few class periods to lead Peter back to their room during passing, Peter barely even _noticing_ with how tired he is, and ask him what in the world is wrong.

Jason sits Peter down on the bed and sits beside him, holding his hand tight, as Peter thinks through his answer. “I’ve just been having a lot of nightmares, lately,” Peter tells him. “I’ll be fi—”

“Don’t tell me you’ll be fine, Peter,” Jason interrupts him, brows furrowed in irritation. “You’re obviously not fine. You look like you’re gonna collapse any moment, and that’s putting it lightly. Look, why don’t we just rest for a while, okay? I’ll put on your favorite Diana Ross album, and we can just lie down until you feel a little better.”

So they do, and when Jason falls asleep beside him, Peter wishes he had the courage to tell the truth.

/ * \

Throughout the loops, Peter has come to appreciate Nadia’s brashness, her sarcasm, her wit. There is something _refreshing_ about it, to know there’s nothing hidden beneath a thousand layers, nothing to have to ponder so long that it follows Peter right into his dreams.

He holds onto it.

Peter finds himself spending more time with Nadia each loop, for the sake of his own sanity. He's heard her quips hundreds of times now, yet she still manages to make Peter laugh, even if he really shouldn’t be laughing at a joke quite as off-color as _that_.

Nadia doesn’t say a word about how pale and frail Peter’s been getting lately. Not until she comes by Peter and Jason’s room one day while Jason’s out getting Peter food from the cafeteria. “I just… wanted to check on you,” she tells him, fiddling with the ends of her sweater, the loose threads there. “You remind me of Jason and I when we were still living with our parents, and I don’t want you going through that, too.”

She sits herself on the edge of their pointedly unused bed. “I don’t know how much Jason has told you about our parents. Enough, I guess,” she says with a sardonic smile, gesturing to how Peter’s expression hasn’t changed to one of confusion. “When it got real bad, it always helped to distract myself—that’s how I started playing the cello. And…”

She continues on, listing off strategies she and Jason have used and shared over the years, and it makes Peter’s chest feel warm, to think that Nadia trusts him this much, cares this much. “But that’s all just what helped us,” she finishes. “I don’t know what’ll help you. But I’m always here to talk to if you need me, okay?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment. One beat, two, three. Peter knows it won’t work; it never has. But he hasn’t opened up in so, so long that it almost hurts, and the idea of having a willing ear, someone who might, just maybe believe him—

So he tells her everything.

Nadia is frozen, for a few minutes, and Peter can see the gears turning in her head as she processes. There’s a little hitch in her voice when she replies. “I can’t _imagine_ what you’re going through. It’s—hard to stomach. But with the way you’ve been walking around lately—well, I can believe it, to say the least.” She swallows, takes a deep breath. “Yeah, Jason’s… it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll talk to him, okay? See how he’s doing, if I can do anything. And I’ll be sure to keep the _princess_ away from him, too.” She mutters the last bit just loud enough for Peter to hear; the loose threads of her sweater have been totally torn out. 

She walks the few steps over to Peter, takes his hand and squeezes it. “Thank you for trusting me. And if this time around doesn’t go well—tell me next time about how I picked up the cello. Not even Jason knows that.” Her smile is kind, hopeful, and a little bit of hope blossom in Peter’s heart, too.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

It takes him a second to realize that there isn’t a breathing body there beside him, a warmth radiating right into his, and panic wells up in him. The door opens, just then, and Jason steps inside.

He looks like hell and a half.

“I just had a nightmare,” Jason tells Peter before he can say anything, glancing towards him as he closes the door behind him. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look _fine_ ,” Peter rebutts, hopping out of bed and walking towards him. He takes Jason’s wrist (cold, cold, cold, like—), feels the way his pulse is racing even still. “You’re freezing. And—”

“It was just a nightmare, okay? I’ll be fine, I promise. I just… need a minute.” Jason exhales deeply, steadying himself. “Thank you, though,” he says, softer.

Jason is quiet after that, and doesn’t bring it up again all day; Peter doesn’t insist. That night, though, just as Peter is falling asleep and the only thing keeping him awake is Jason’s breath tickling the nape of his neck and the way Jason is rubbing circles into Peter’s hand, there’s a gentle murmur, barely louder than Peter’s breathing. 

“It was about my dad,” it goes. “From when I was eight. About what he did when I asked him if I could date a boy I liked at the time. And I—” His voice shakes, and Peter just squeezes his hand tight through it.

Peter falls asleep in Jason’s arms. Jason’s heartbeat is steady against his back, and Peter thinks that he’s never been so let in before.

/ * \

Jason changes after those nights. It would be hard to notice for anyone but Peter, but after so many loops, Peter could notice it if Jason happened to be a few minutes earlier to class than he usually is.

They’re small things: his hand on small of Peter’s back or his arm slung around Peter’s shoulder while they’re walking down the hall, his grabbing Peter an extra fruit bowl at lunch, an extra kiss or two on the cheek at night, more _I thought of you_ texts. When they’re added together, though, they become something much larger than the sum of their parts: a heartfelt reminder that Jason cares, that he notices.

When Peter comments on it one evening, when they’re all tangled up together in bed, Jason exhales so softly that Peter doesn’t hear it, but rather feels it against his neck, and murmurs, “I just want you to be happy. You’ve looked so down lately, and I don’t want you to forget that I’m always here for you. Forever you and I, right?” He smiles at the phrase, _their_ line, and Peter’s heart clenches a little before he smiles, too. “Even through the bad stuff.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers right back. “Thank you.” _I just want us to be happy_ rests on the tip of his tongue, heavy and tempting like forbidden fruit, and—he can’t place this burden on Jason, too. He just can’t.

When Peter wakes up in the middle of the night, just one more nightmare to add to the tally, Jason is fast asleep next to him, arms loose around him.

He gives in and whispers it as though Jason can hear him.

/ * \

There is a certain distance between Peter and Ivy nowadays. It’s not intentional by any means, but maybe there’s a part of Peter’s that’s scared of her, knowing the sway she holds over Jason, knowing the power she holds to make Peter’s worst fears become realized. It's irrational, and certainly not fair, but it still stands nonetheless.

Peter misses her. They weren’t best friends, before, but they were especially close, and growing apart from her has been an added toll.

Ivy is not oblivious to it all. She rarely is oblivious to anything. Peter catches the way she glances at him when he accidentally reveals that he knows more than he should, that cautious, thoughtful scrutiny in her gaze. Every time, he thinks she knows, but she never says a word.

When Ivy asks him if he could help her with the French homework that got assigned that day, Peter hesitates for a moment too long before accepting, just long enough to be noticeable. This is something new, something Ivy has never done in any of the previous loops—she’s asked for advice on homework before, during class, a quick reminder on how you conjugate this or that, but never an actual study session. A small bolt of fear rushes down Peter’s spine when Ivy tells him to come by her room later that night.

Ivy has her French homework all laid out in front of her on her desk, and she’s biting the cap of her pen as she stares down at it. She looks up as Peter enters, eyes lighting up as she smiles at him and gestures to the chair next to her.

Nadia’s on the other side of the room, lying on her bed and reading _The Catcher in the Rye_ , and she looks up, too, waving at Peter. Peter gives a small wave and smiles back as he sits down beside Ivy. He pushes himself closer to the desk as he examines what Ivy has in front of her.

It’s the French homework that was assigned today about conjugating verbs in the passive and active in various tenses. It’s a review assignment, but they haven’t talked about passives in months, and Ivy certainly can’t be the only one to be struggling on it. “So,” she starts, “I wasn’t sure about the forming the passive perfect and passive future…” She takes her pen, cap all bitten and streaked white with the damage, and points out the questions with the tip. 

It’s something Peter struggled with, too, his first few loops, but then he hears his teacher’s explanation over and over again in French class the next day. “It helps me to think about it this way,” he starts, taking a pen out of the bag he brought.

They spend a while working on the homework, small talk mixed in-between about _did Matt tell you about how he’s going to Georgetown?_ and the play, and once they’ve finished up the assignment, Ivy puts her pen down with a sense of finality and looks at Peter with unmasked skepticism. She bites her lip for a moment, glances down to the side, glances towards Nadia’s side of the room. Nadia left maybe half a hour ago, not able to focus on her book, probably going to the library or over to Jason and Peter’s room. 

“When did you,” she begins, pauses, smiles a little sardonically as she gestures vaguely, “get better at all of this? You were never good at passives before. You always got past perfect and perfect mixed up and future mixed up with present. I think it’s an inside joke for the entire class at this point that you don’t know your passives.” 

Peter freezes, stops fidgeting with his pen. There are small details like his previous inability to _get_ passives that he’s forgotten about in the wake of so many new memories throughout the loops. “And how come you acted like you knew I aced that test in English? I fail almost every English test we have. And how did you know that Matt was going to Georgetown? He hasn’t officially decided yet. He’s only told me that he’s pretty sure he’s going there. And how come you keep—” She breaks off, sighs deeply in some mix of frustration and tiredness. “What is _wrong_ with you, Peter? What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird for weeks, barely initiating conversation with anyone but Jason, and I—” She hesitates, bites her lip again. Nervous habit. “You look like a dead man walking, Peter. I’m worried about you.”

Peter is silent. He’s been telling everyone he’s sick whenever they ask about how honestly _terrible_ he looks, pale and tired and fidgety, but he has no excuse for the knowledge he’s picked up over the loops, for somehow knowing things far in advance. 

This time around, he hasn’t told Ivy a thing about him and Jason or the loops, since Jason hasn’t had sex with Ivy on any loop he and Peter have stayed together—but Peter, suddenly, is gut-wrenchingly _scared_. It went well enough, telling Nadia, but Ivy is a whole other enigma, someone with so much more power than Nadia. Ivy can make or break a loop by barely lifting a pinky, by telling Matt, by tempting Jason, by—

He doesn’t want to change things. He’s _scared_ of failing at St. Cecilia’s again. He wants better than that for Jason. But what Peter is most scared of is being part of what spurs Jason to give everything up yet _again_ because of what Jason himself thinks he should be. Ivy would never cause that on purpose, especially not after Peter’s told her about the loops. Still, there's that compelling fear deep in the wells of Peter’s heart.

It would be useless to try to lie about this; Peter knows that much. Ivy is not stupid. And in this sort of situation, the only thing he can say is the truth, no matter how much it terrifies him.

So he does. His voice shakes so badly that he slurs the words, but he does.

And Ivy is quiet, for a while. She closes her eyes, inhales, exhales, processing, clasps her hands together. “I wouldn’t believe you normally, you know. But you—this—you shouldn’t know that I like Jason. You shouldn’t know that I’d be willing to be close with Nadia again. I haven’t told anyone that. Maybe I’ve been a little obvious about Jason, but Nadia—I haven’t breathed a word about Nadia to anyone. I probably didn’t believe you the first time ‘cause I didn’t have all this—other stuff supporting it, but you…” She opens her eyes, looks right into Peter’s, poignant. She looks like she might cry. “I don’t want to hear those things about myself, or Jason, or Matt, but—” Her breath hitches. “Thank you. For trusting me. It really means a lot to me. Is there anything I can—I mean, besides being there for you and Jason, of course—”

Peter shakes his head. Ivy sighs, nods twice in quick succession. “Well, let me know if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

For the first time in a long time, Peter feels some semblance of security, and the sprout of hope in his heart grows a little bit more.

/ * \

The next time Peter sees Ivy and Nadia, the two of them walking through the hall together, they are holding hands.

/ * \

Nadia swings by Peter’s room the next day. Jason is out rehearsing with Ivy, and Peter finds that he isn’t as scared as he thought he would be at the idea.

Nadia doesn’t say a word about Ivy, but there’s an unusual air of happiness and contentedness about her when she enters the room, like something long-lost has been found. It quickly fades when she begins speaking, but that it existed at all is something that Peter finds warming his heart. 

“I talked to Jason,” she tells him, pulling up a chair beside where Peter sits on the bed, book lying cover-up next to him. “I don’t know how much you know about—everything. You know our parents aren’t gonna win parents of the year anytime soon, but there were times—” she hesitates, and picks at the point where her thumbnail meets her skin. “We would get locked in the coat closet, sometimes, for hours on end. As punishment, I mean. That was probably the worst of it, and it happened to Jason a lot before he… learned.” 

She winces a bit at the word choice and takes a second before continuing. “Jason’s never had anyone to talk to about that, and I think he’s never really gotten over it, you know? Well, you do know that, I guess. Point being—I talked to Sister Chantelle about Jason because of what you said, asked if there were any therapists around that could maybe help him out, and she said she knew of a couple, that she’d talk to them. Our parents would never allow it, but she said that since Jason’s been eighteen for a while, he should be fine without their permission. Plus, with those birthday checks with love from good ol’ dad, I think Jason can go without our parents knowing for a while. He said he'd think about it, and that's the best answer you're gonna get out of him.”

Peter can feel the dots connecting, like a map unfolding before his eyes. Like this might just be it. “He actually said he’d _consider_ it? Are we really talking about Jason?”

“I know, I know.” Nadia barks out a laugh. “I didn't tell him about any of the—you know.” She waves her hand dismissively. “But I did tell him that I figured it out about the two of you and that, in the long run, I think it'd make the two of you happier. And I think that kind of struck something in him.”

Peter hums in acknowledgement. “He took you knowing—well enough?” Jason hasn’t once been okay with coming out at St. Cecilia’s—only ever Notre Dame, and even then, it’s always a trial.

She shrugs, nods. “As well as he was going to. He freaked out a little, demanded to know what tipped me off and everything, but, like, come on. I’m his _sister_. I’m not stupid enough to miss how disgustingly happy he is with you.”

Peter can’t help but laugh a little. “Careful, there. Don’t want to start being a hypocrite.”

Nadia shoots a glare at him. “Oh, no. We are not on your level, not anywhere close to that. Ivy wasn’t even sure she _liked_ me until we talked about it, and I’m pretty sure you and Jason have been together since, like, the womb—”

For the first time in a long time, Peter realizes, things feel _right_.

/ * \

Jason gets back later than expected that night. It’s not late enough for Peter to go to bed, but late enough for him to worry, a little. Jason comes in so quietly that Peter doesn’t hear him at first—the door closing ever-so-gently is what tips him off.

Jason seems _lost_. That’s the only way Peter can describe it. He doesn’t even look at Peter as he sets his things down beside the desk, and Peter somehow knows he shouldn’t interrupt whatever’s going on in Jason’s mind right now.

Jason sits beside him on the bed, legs dangling off the side as he faces away from Peter. In a whisper, he asks, “Do you really think that G-d doesn’t hate us for—being like this?”

It’s a discussion they’ve had more times than Peter can count. They’ve never come to a satisfactory answer. 

Jason is so vulnerable, so bare, that Peter is taken off-guard for a moment. It’s rare that he’ll ever initiate this conversation, and rarer still that he’ll discuss it without using anger as a shield. Peter doesn’t like seeing Jason like this. 

(Jason still won’t say the word. He never does. The first time, the only time, was when—)

Peter matches Jason’s tone. “I don’t think…” Peter pauses for a moment, searching for the words. “It doesn’t make sense for Him to not know from the beginning if we were or weren’t going to be like that, right? Since we’re all made in His image, and He makes every single one of us, down to the last detail. I think it includes that. I think, if anything, He would be upset that you’re not being yourself as He made you to be.” This is a perspective that he hadn’t considered since Sister Chantelle spoke to him during that very first loop.

Jason is silent for a long time. “Sister Chantelle was with us when we were rehearsing, and she stopped me after Ivy left. She told me that she—knew, about us. That Nadia told her. She told me that G-d would love me no matter who I was or who I loved. But I…” He hesitates, and Peter can see under the lamplight the way he digs his fingernails into his skin. “I’ve always been told that this is wrong. And I feel so—so—ostracized from both the church and other people like us, and like I can’t possibly believe or have G-d love me if I’m like this. And it—it affects everything, and it’s all so _confusing_.”

Peter puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason looks back at him. His eyes are rimmed red and watery. It _hurts_ to see him like this. “Come here,” Peter tells him. Jason hesitates for only a second before he gets onto the bed beside Peter. Peter tugs him until he’s right next to him and hugs him tight.

Jason cries into Peter’s shoulder as Peter rubs his back. The only sound is Jason’s sniffling and hiccups.

They are quiet; they fall asleep like that.

/ * \

Peter holds Jason’s hand in the hallways throughout the next day. It feels like a triumph because usually Jason never lets Peter do anything affectionate with him for a few days after one of those conversations—it feels like _progress_.

Ivy and Nadia notice, too. Nadia winks at them, and Ivy just smiles at their joined hands.

Matt, on the other hand, is less understanding. The look he gives them is nothing short of scandalized. He glances to Ivy and Nadia as though searching for a similar reaction, and only looks more scorned when he doesn’t find it.

Matt is quiet for the rest of the day around Peter and Jason, but Jason still holds onto Peter’s hand.

/ * \

It takes a few weeks for it to happen. Graduation is getting ever closer, an ever-looming constant, but things are hardly the same as they ever have been.

Jason has started therapy, now, and has been going for two or three weeks. It hasn’t made a major change yet, but Peter thinks he’s noticed tiny things, more genuine expressions of emotion instead of the people-pleasing he’s so used to from Jason. Peter wonders if he could benefit from it, too.

Jason is holding his hand more, too, more surprise kisses, less worrying about ducking in here or there. It’s certainly still there, in Jason’s shaky hands and the way he’ll suddenly clam up or wrench his hand out of Peter’s, and maybe it’ll always be there, but it’s a start. 

(Peter is happy.)

Still, _it_ happens, and Peter should’ve known it would.

He and Jason are early for their next class, the one just after lunch. Even the teacher isn’t back yet from her lunch break. The classroom is totally empty, and Peter thinks _why the hell not_ as he tugs Jason to the back of the classroom, through the maze of desks and out of the view of the doorway. He leans up on his tiptoes, and presses a soft kiss to Jason’s cheek.

It’s chaste, barely anything, but Jason still blushes a little, a rosy little red that’s endearing. 

That’s when Peter looks behind Jason and sees Matt standing in the doorway, staring right at them, white-knuckled grip on the handle of his bag.

Jason turns around to see what Peter’s staring at, and flinches, hard, takes a tiny little step away from Peter as if on instinct. (It stings a bit.)

Nobody speaks at first.

“So—” Matt sputters, releases his the handle of his bag, gestures vaguely in the air. “Is that what this is? You two are…”

Peter grits his teeth. He looks to Jason, watches the emotions play across his face before he hides them. It’s his decision, his choice, how this plays out, not Peter’s. Not after what happened the first loop.

Peter watches the second hand on the clock tick by.

“We are,” Jason tells him.

Peter’s gaze snaps back to Jason’s face. It is carefully constructed, not revealing anything, and Peter doubts what he’s heard. 

Matt’s face turns up in pure disdain, the same way it did every time Peter told him. Peter knows this expression well. “The two of you are—”

“We’re together,” Jason reiterates, enunciating both words. “Though I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

He takes Peter’s hand and leads him towards their assigned seating (next to each other, a lucky draw), pointedly ignoring Matt. Jason glances towards Peter, a flash of insecurity showing on his face, and Peter smiles at him, wide and open. He nudges Jason with his elbow, mouths _I’m proud of you_. Jason smiles back at him, tight and tiny.

Matt opens his mouth to say something more when the teacher walks in. She looks between them, senses the tension in the air. “Is everything… alright, gentlemen?” 

Matt looks at her as if snapped out of a trance. “Uh, um—yes, ma’am. We’re fine,” he stutters as he heads towards his own seat, a few behind Peter and Jason’s.

Every time something like this has happened, it’s effectively been the end of the loop. Peter is terrified, but at the same time, a jittery joy is bouncing around his chest. 

This loop feels different.

/ * \

Matt stops talking to them after that. He stops talking to Ivy and Nadia, too, with the way they’ve all grown so close throughout this loop.

Peter isn’t surprised when Matt and Jason rehearse the fight scene and Matt calls Jason _that_. But this time, Ivy slaps Matt straight across the face, hard enough to turn his head. The glares he gets from Nadia and Sister Chantelle are poisonous. Sister Chantelle drags Matt out of the room and into her office with such force that Peter swears he can hear the scrape of Matt’s shoes on the wood floor.

When Peter asks Jason afterwards if he’s okay as they’re packing up, Jason glances up from his bag at Peter, and simply says, “I will be.”

It is enough.

/ * \

Rumors fly around, as they do. Matt doesn’t formally out them as he usually does, but there’s enough talk around the school of what Matt did during rehearsals and of _did you hear what Matt told me he saw Peter and Jason doing in math class…?_ vhat the damage is done.

Jason doesn’t say anything about it. Peter hears Jason saying _there’s no such thing as heroes who are queer in his dreams_ , but it never happens. Jason is more jittery and off-kilter, for sure, but he’s still _here_ in every sense of the word.

(Peter’s heart has not stopped quivering in anticipation, in hope, for days.)

Nadia and Ivy help. They are endlessly patient, supportive, distracting, encouraging. They’re _there_. Jason’s nerves seem to melt away around them, as though he’s found a sense of belonging, of genuine acceptance.

They make it, despite everything.

/ * \

Peter cries when they call Jason’s name at graduation. He looks to Nadia and Ivy and realizes he is not the only one.

/ * \

They go to Notre Dame together. Nadia goes to a college just a five-minute drive away, Saint Mary’s College, and Ivy goes to Mount Holyoke, a college just a few hours away from St. Cecilia’s, mostly because she wanted to stay close to her mother.

/ * \

They make it past Notre Dame.

/ * \

Peter tells Jason about it all. It takes years, some of them out of wanting to be absolutely safe and some of them out of Peter just being _scared_. But he does, eventually, because he trusts Jason by now, trusts how far he’s come. His therapist has been encouraging him to talk to Jason about it for a while.

Jason is quiet. The silence stretches on, and on, and on. Peter is too scared to do anything to break the reverie.

Jason, when he finally reacts, does not speak. He gets up from his side of the bed, walks around to Peter’s side where he’s sitting with his legs dangling off the end, and hugs him so tight that Peter wants to cry.

When Jason whispers _thank you_ into the silence, Peter does cry.

/ * \

Peter wakes up.

He can hear the curtains rustling in the window. The light splays through the curtains gently, filtering through the room just so.

Peter climbs out of bed. He thinks he can smell something from the kitchen, something sweet, and the wood floor is cool on his feet as he pads towards the kitchen. 

He peeks through the doorway, and Jason’s all bundled up in a sweater as he makes pancakes (blueberry, Peter’s favorite), standing near the stove as he waits for them to be ready to be flipped. A smile creeps up onto Peter’s face as he walks inside. He hugs Jason from behind, propping his head on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason startles a little, glances down at the arms around his waist, before he smiles, too. “Good morning,” he says, voice all throaty from sleep.

“‘Morning,” Peter returns. He doesn’t resist as Jason extracts himself from Peter’s hug and steps a little away so he can flip the pancakes. 

“What’s the occasion?” Peter asks him, yawning a little as he fiddles with the ring on his finger.

“There isn’t one,” Jason answers as he sets the spatula down. “Just thought it’d be nice. And, y’know, I love you, and all that.”

Peter’s smile returns with a vengeance. “I love you, too. Thank you.”

Jason turns to smile back at him, and when he transfers the pancakes from the pan to the plate resting on the table, he takes a second to kiss Peter on the forehead, all tender and sweet.

This is how things were always meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> THE BIGGEST THANKS to my sweetheart [robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for beta’ing this monster when they don’t even know or like bare… i appreciate you and it so much!!! love you!!
> 
> thank you so, so much for reading. this is the longest thing i’ve ever written, and i hope this means to you at least some fraction of how much it meant to me as i wrote it. please, please feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts, concrit or otherwise--i would love to hear it!
> 
> i am [@queeenmab](https://twitter.com/queeenmab) on twitter! please feel free to send me a message if you wanna chat or anything! :-) i am currently working on a ivy analysis fic that will be nadivy, if that piques anyone’s interest!


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